


the weekend

by tvfanatic97



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Discussions of sex, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Missed Connections, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn as Plot, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-19 05:33:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29869908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tvfanatic97/pseuds/tvfanatic97
Summary: “Long time no see,” she jokes.He lets out a laugh-like huff in agreement, “Yeah, for sure.” A pause, “You look—you look really good, Michelle.” MJ doesn’t miss the way his gaze leisurely travels over her, clearly checking her out, mostly because she does the same thing, her own gaze tracking from his eyes down the slope of his neck, following down his sternum peeking out through his undone collar and shirt buttons until she catches herself and snaps her gaze away from his chest and focuses back on his face instead.She has to resist the urge to tuck her hair behind her ears in response to his compliment, a juvenile reaction. Instead, she shrugs nonchalantly and gives him an easy smirk, “It’s the classic high school loner to college hottie pipeline; I got hot literally the day right after we graduated from Midtown.”Peter chuckles and shakes his head, then, in a quiet voice where MJ has to strain slightly to hear him, “You were always hot.”-Or: MJ reunites with her old High School crush nearly a decade since she last saw him. The two decide to take a chance and spend the weekend together, rekindling their old friendship and what could have been.
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Comments: 43
Kudos: 123





	the weekend

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spideysmjs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spideysmjs/gifts).



> The summary of this really should j be "people talking and fucking", bc that's all this is folks. You've been warned, there's only the tiniest bit of plot. 
> 
> I'm dedicating this one to my fellow gremlin, Marie. Love ya.

MJ collapses into a chair on a table near the back of the venue, away from the general drunken excitement and commotion of the reception.

She slips her feet out of her stilettos and revels in the feeling of having her feet on flat ground for the first time in hours, revels in the feeling of getting a moment to herself to just _breathe_ for the first time in literal weeks. The bride and groom left not too long ago to catch a flight to their honeymoon, meaning she’s officially off the clock. She loves Liz dearly, but being maid of honor is something she has no intention of ever doing again, _ever_.

Running her fingers through her hair and massaging her scalp, MJ sighs and starts to lean back to rest her head against the back of the chair when she notices the other presence on the table for the first time since she sat down.

She goes to apologize for the intrusion but pauses when she notices who the table’s other occupant is.

“ _Peter_? Peter Parker?”

He smiles at her, sheepish yet pleasantly surprised, and though it’s been over a decade since she last saw him and he’s clearly older and more rugged, there’s still that same boyish quality he had when they were at Midtown, that magnetic quality about him that always intrigued her so much.

“Em—Michelle, it’s, uh, it’s good to see you.”

“Long time no see,” she jokes.

He lets out a laugh-like huff in agreement, “Yeah, for sure.” A pause, “You look—you look really good, Michelle.” MJ doesn’t miss the way his gaze leisurely travels over her, clearly checking her out, mostly because she does the same thing, her own gaze tracking from his eyes down the slope of his neck, following down his sternum peeking out through his undone collar and shirt buttons until she catches herself and snaps her gaze away from his chest and focuses back on his face instead.

She has to resist the urge to tuck her hair behind her ears in response to his compliment, a juvenile reaction. Instead, she shrugs nonchalantly and gives him an easy smirk, “It’s the classic high school loner to college hottie pipeline; I got hot literally the day right after we graduated from Midtown.”

Peter chuckles and shakes his head, then, in a quiet voice where MJ has to strain slightly to hear him, “You were always hot.”

She raises her eyebrows at him and Peter seems to catch himself, realizing he said those words out loud. His eyes widen almost imperceptibly and he brings a hand up to scratch at the back of his neck, a nervous tic of his she remembers so clearly from their high school days. There’s something comforting, nostalgic, about the familiarity of his reaction.

“So, Harvard?” Peter asks, bringing MJ out of her musings. She narrows her eyes, not following so he clarifies, “I meant, did you end up going to Harvard?”

“Right, yeah—yeah. Undergrad and Law School.”

“That’s amazing, Michelle. I remember you always wanted to go to Harvard.”

And there it is again, that overwhelming urge to revert back to her teenage self: to blush, to tuck her hair behind her ears, and to avert her gaze. She resists the urge and instead carries on the conversation, “What about you?”

“ESU. Both for undergrad and grad school,” Peter answers easily.

“Decided to stay in New York, huh?”

“Yeah,” Peter responds. There’s a wistfulness to his tone and she’s not sure if it’s borne out of regret he never left at any point, or something else. Before she can analyse his tone further Peter speaks, “Hey, uh, can I get you a drink?”

“It’s an open bar, dork,” MJ retorts, though she nods her head yes at the same time. “A mojito, please.”

“Never said I’d be _buying_ the drink,” he says with a smirk as he gets out of his seat.

MJ watches him as he makes his way across the dance floor, expertly dodging drunk dancers and making his way to the bar at the other end. When he gets there one of the bartenders immediately notices him and signals for him to come to the end of the counter, away from the waiting crowd. Though MJ can’t hear the words they exchange, the familiarity and flirty air between the pair is easy to see even from a distance.

She carries on watching as the bartender rushes to grab Peter’s drinks, prioritizing him above everyone else and before MJ knows it, Peter is headed back her way, a bottle of beer in one hand and her mojito in the other.

When he gets back to the table, he comes around to her side to place her cup in front of her then takes the seat next to her rather than his previous one on the other end of the table.

“Thanks,” MJ says, taking a moment to take a sip of her drink, allowing the refreshing lime and mint taste to relax her. “You got these drinks real quick,” there’s a clear, teasing lilt to her voice and she raises her eyebrows to punctuate her suggestive tone.

Peter snorts, shrugs innocently. “Trade secrets,” he responds with a wink. “I used to bartend in grad school,” he adds.

“' _Trade secrets’_ , is that what we’re calling it now?”

He doesn’t respond to her words, just laughing quietly as he brings his beer up to his lips to take a small sip.

Before she can get distracted by the way his lips wrap around the bottle and the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, she speaks, “So ESU undergrad, grad school, bartending somewhere in the midst of all that…what else have you been up to in the last ten years, Parker?”

“Well…” He starts.

The two end up getting lost in conversation, making up for lost time as the drinks continue to flow between them. Peter tells her about his days at ESU, about the various part-time jobs he did throughout school to support himself—bus boy, pizza delivery guy, barista, bartender, tutoring—and about his work currently in a lab. She in turn, catches him up on her days at Harvard, the part-time work she did throughout school to support herself—working in the campus library, just the one job because she was able to hold a job down, _unlike you Parker_ —and about her work currently in a law firm.

Talking to Peter is astoundingly easy, no awkward pauses or stiltedness to the conversation. During their last couple of years at Midtown, her and Peter had started to grow a bit closer through their shared advanced classes and academic decathlon, with MJ having an extended invite to his and Ned’s nerdy movie nights. As they talk now, it’s like no time has passed at all, like they didn’t completely lose touch after MJ left New York.

Both of them occasionally, often, flirt with one another, the alcohol and re-familiarity loosening them up so that their words are more suggestive and their bodies drift closer and closer until their thighs are pressed against each other under the table and Peter’s arm is leisurely resting on the back of her chair.

They talk, and laugh, and gossip about other wedding guests in the venue they watch, and time gets away from them until MJ notices how the venue has been slowly emptying out and only a few people wanting to take full advantage of the open bar remain.

Peter seems to notice how empty the venue is around the same time she does, and his expression becomes slightly crestfallen when he has the same realization she’s just had—that soon, they’ll have to part ways and say goodbye.

They try desperately to prolong their remaining time together, but the knowledge that they don’t have much time left together and have no idea when they might see each other again after that hangs over them, a pervasive melancholy now coloring each word exchanged, each laugh.

Eventually they run out of more words to exchange, and MJ is trying to muster up the courage to bid him farewell and make her way back to her hotel room when Peter suddenly, audibly inhales then in a single breath, “I’m not ready for this night to be over yet and I kind of wanted to do something fun so—”

“Yes,” MJ answers immediately, interrupting him in a fit of elation and adolescent-like excitement.

He narrows his eyes at her, confused. “ _’Yes,’_ like you wanna go?”

“Yes,” she repeats, slightly cooler but no less enthusiastic.

“Okay, awesome.”

“I need to grab my purse and phone from my original seat then do a couple more maid of honor duties first, but I can meet you out front?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Peter agrees readily. “I’ll meet you outside in ten minutes.”

“Meet me outside in five minutes,” she counters.

His smile grows that little bit wider, “Five is good.”

“Okay, yeah.” MJ means to get up out of her seat so she can go and grab her stuff, she does, but instead she finds herself lingering and Peter doesn’t make a move to go out front either, the pair of them just staring at each other, a heat in both of their gazes and a tension thrumming beneath the surface.

Eventually, MJ gets out of her seat, slips her shoes back on and starts heading to the wedding party table but not before turning to Peter and reminding him, “Five minutes,” with a wink.

* * *

She quickly checks with the manager of the venue that there’s nothing else they need from her and thanks servers she comes across and the DJ who is still going, before she grabs her purse and heads out to the lobby to find Peter, almost sprinting out of excitement.

She finds him waiting in the lobby of the hotel, adjusting then readjusting his jacket and shirt and smoothing out his hair in a way that’s oddly endearing.

“So, what do you wanna do Peter Parker?”

He smiles sheepishly then, “I suggested we hang out in a spur of the moment thing but I actually don’t know LA that well so uh, I have no idea.” A blush spreads out across his face and up to the tips of his ears, and he laughs almost nervously.

“We could—we could go to my hotel room?” MJ suggests, having to tamper down her nerves; she is a grown woman and not a teenager with a crush, she can invite him back to her room if she wants to.

Peter’s eyes widen momentarily before he schools his features. “Uh, yeah, sure. I’m good with that.”

“Okay,” MJ says, taking a deep breath in then out to compose herself. “I actually booked a room at another hotel downtown ‘cause this one cost like two-grand a night.”

He snorts bemusedly in response. “Yeah, same.”

“I’ll just—” She starts to say, pauses as she fishes her phone out of her purse before continuing, “I’ll order us an Uber.”

Where conversation easily flowed between them before, now there’s a stiltedness to it as they wait in the lobby until their Uber is close-by. But the awkward silence is broken by Peter suddenly speaking out, “Hey, is that a graduated cylinder in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

MJ has to bite her lip to stifle the smile threatening to break out. “That doesn’t even make sense; shouldn’t I be saying that to you?”

“You’re laughing regardless.”

“No I’m not,” she tries to argue, but her lips are almost quivering from the effort of holding in her laughter. The urge to laugh at Peter’s dorky joke wins out and she finds herself giggling. She even counters his science pick-up line with one of her own, “You must be made of uranium and iodine, because I can see U and I together.”

Peter’s laughter comes easily, unrestrained. It’s something she’s always noticed about him, both before and tonight, how open he is with his emotions and how easily his smiles and laughter come; it doesn’t make it any less rewarding to get one out of him, though.

“I don’t know the periodic table—”

“Well, that’s a flat-out lie, nerd,” MJ interjects, teasing. Peter rolls his eyes faux-exasperatedly so she makes a show of zipping her lips shut before gesturing for him to continue.

“I don’t know the periodic table, but I know how to do you periodically on a table.”

A loud laugh bursts out of MJ, unexpected but genuine at his dirty joke.

“Too much?” he asks sheepishly.

She shakes her head as she tries to control her laughter, then when she finally settles down, “No, not too much.” She then throws him a flirtatious grin.

They exchange more of their best (worst) pick-up lines and science innuendos and the awkward air that momentarily hung between them dissipates and they go back to the easy banter and flirting of before.

When their Uber is a few minutes away, they decide to move to outside the hotel and as they make their way outside, Peter brings a palm to rest on her lower back to guide her through the entrance and MJ feels the press of it, the warmth of it, so acutely it’s as if he’s touching bare skin. MJ shivers, desire pulsing through her, but Peter mistakes her shiver for her being cold because as soon as they’re through the large doors, he rushes to slip his suit jacket off then drapes it over her shoulders. Chivalrous and ridiculous.

His hands linger on her shoulders after he’s put the jacket on her and they’re close enough that she can feel the warmth radiating off him. Deciding to be the one to be brave and make the first move this time, MJ closes the miniscule gap between them and crouches down to press her lips firmly against his.

Peter enthusiastically returns the kiss, one of his hands moving to rest on her jaw to tilt her head down more whilst the other slips beneath his jacket to press against her lower back and pull her closer so she’s pressed against his body.

He is an exceptionally good kisser, better than she imagined as a teenager fantasizing with no experience to use as a reference point. Peter’s tongue explores her mouth hungrily, yet unrushed, and MJ finds her head swimming more from the intensity of the kiss than from all the alcohol they’ve had.

They reluctantly pull apart once their Uber pulls up in front of them, MJ still panting and trying to catch her breath. She gets a hold of herself then leads the way to the waiting car, Peter following behind her into the backseat.

* * *

Michelle walks through the open elevator doors and goes to the back to lean against the wall, unhurried and leisurely.

She feels warm all over, lightheaded and giddy in a way she wants to attribute to the several glasses of free champagne then the cocktails she’d had over the course of the pre-ceremony champagne reception then the reception itself, but when she looks to her left and sees the goofy smile on Peter’s face directed at her and the pink flush over his cheeks, knows isn’t entirely from alcohol.

Mustering up a heady mixture of liquid courage and the emboldened feeling kissing him when they were waiting for the Uber had given her, she sidles up along the elevator wall until she’s stood close, close, close to him. She leans her head towards him and is about to press her lips against his, about to re-familiarize herself with the feeling of his slightly chapped yet warm lips moving in tandem with hers, when a woman calls out for them to hold the elevator.

The pair of them awkwardly clear their throats, MJ taking a tentative step back whilst Peter goes to press the elevator button, holding the elevator for the woman who spoke and her two young kids who hurriedly shuffle into the elevator and mutter quiet thanks to Peter.

They ride up the elevator going from the first floor, to the second and so on in relative silence, bar the quiet murmurs of the two kids who also occasionally giggle at each other until their mom gives them an unimpressed glare, then they quieten again.

The old elevator groans as they slowly ascend up the building and MJ just stares ahead, doing everything in her power to not stare at Peter lest she do something ridiculous like kiss him or worse, blush like she’s fifteen in gym class and has just noticed the bulge of his biceps and gotten a peek at the abs he’d conceal beneath oversized, baggy clothes.

She nearly gasps when she feels his hand move closer to her own which rests by her side before he sneakily, quickly loops their pinkies.

MJ feels heat rise in her cheeks. She clears her throat one, two times then moves to interlace all their fingers so they’re properly holding hands; might as well commit to it.

Eventually they reach the seventh floor, at which point the mother and her two kids step off, leaving her and Peter alone but they don’t immediately rush to share a passionate kiss, instead staying in their positions stood side by side with her hand wrapped around his larger one.

When they reach the top floor, MJ steps out first and Peter allows her to drag him behind her as they hurriedly make their way to the other end of the hall.

She feels a giddy, girly excitement bubble up within her as Peter tightens his hold on her and follows closely behind her.

“Hey, that’s my room!” Peter says whilst MJ tries to get her room door unlocked, too worked up to steady her hand and insert the key card into its slot. She looks away from the task at hand to see what room Peter is pointing to and lets out a disbelieving laugh when she sees that his room is the one next door to hers at the end of the hall. They’d laughed when they realised they just happened to be staying in the same hotel in the Uber on the way here, amused by the coincidence, but this seems to take it a step farther.

“It’s like the universe wanted us to meet again,” Peter says quietly, joking but also achingly earnest.

MJ can’t help but to lean towards him and kiss him, wasting no time in grazing a path along his bottom lip with her tongue, seeking permission he willingly grants her by allowing her to immediately deepen the kiss. They get lost in each other, tongues exploring, for a moment until MJ catches herself and remembers her mission to get them into her hotel room.

She pulls away from Peter’s lips, causing him to make a small sound of protest, then turns around in his arms to work on getting the door open. It takes her a few tries, distracted by the way Peter moves her curls aside and starts trailing his lips along the back of her neck, tonguing at the sensitive skin.

Eventually, she manages to get the door open and walks through it with Peter following close behind her, still with his arms wrapped around her middle and lips pressed to her neck. MJ hurries to drop her purse to the ground and kicks off her stilettos before she quickly turns around in Peter’s embrace then slams the door closed with Peter’s solid body.

She uses Peter’s momentary disorientation at the change in their positions to slip his jacket off then she’s on him once more, picking up where they left off with her exploration of his mouth hastily, desperate to taste him again.

Her hands start to wander, leisurely roaming over his torso, down, down, down to untuck his shirt before she sneaks her hands beneath to feel his warm skin, hand grazing a path up the planes of muscle.

She doesn’t get very far in her journey though, for Peter swaps their positions to have her pinned against the door instead before she can even so much as blink. He wastes no time in shrugging the flimsy straps of her dress off her shoulders then starts laving at the skin exposed to him, at the same time as his hands hungrily roam over the silk of her dress like he wants to be touching her everywhere at once, the skin beneath burning from his attentive touch.

As their tongues move hungrily together, a dance, his hands sneak beneath the hem of her dress and begin their ascent up her thighs, gently stroking and massaging the skin until he starts teasing her over the cotton of her underwear. He groans appreciatively at how wet he finds her already, even over her underwear, and that lessens the potential embarrassment MJ might have felt about being so worked up just from kissing him.

She has to pull away to take gasping breaths when he starts to move his fingers over her, teasing and probing, over her underwear with enough pressure to feel good, but not as good as his movements would be without her underwear in the way.

She refuses to beg, but she is getting close the more his fingers trace over her slit and circle her clit over her underwear, intentional and teasing.

“Do you like that?” he asks in a breathy whisper between laving kisses to the column of her throat.

MJ wants to tell him that yes, yes, she does like it but would like it even better if he’d stop teasing her but no words come out.

“I am asking to be all sexy and turn you on, but I also do need to know what you like,” Peter says, tone conversational as his fingers continue their ministrations.

MJ chuckles, both at his words and his tone, then, “Yes, you asshole. Now stop teasing.”

He finally takes mercy on her by hooking both his hands under her underwear and pulling them down. He pulls her underwear down a couple of inches, pauses, then gets on his knees to pull them down the rest of the way.

Her underwear falls uselessly down her legs and MJ kicks them away once they reach her ankles, and Peter pushes her dress up her waist as soon as her feet are back on the ground, exposing her to him. He quickly gets to work, mouth dragging through her slickness and lapping all of her up.

MJ’s head falls back against the wooden door with a resounding thud but she’s too distracted by the way he swirls his tongue over her clit to care about the pain blooming at the back of her head, her entire world winnowing down to the sensations Peter draws out of her with his tongue and mouth.

Peter may be the one on his knees before her but she is the one entirely at his mercy, his mouth moving over her with great intent and precision until she’s pliable enough for him to easily lift one of her legs to rest over his shoulder, spreading her open for him.

He moves the hand that was holding her dress up above her waist and brings it down to press his fingers into her, which causes her dress to fall gently over him, curtaining his head. MJ intends to hold her dress up herself so she can keep watching his head moving between her legs but Peter curls his fingers, hitting a spot within her that leaves her breathless, at the same time as he sucks hard on her clit and she finds herself completely incapable of moving any part of her, instead just allowing her head to fall back against the door, too overwhelmed.

After an impressive amount of time spent with his head up the skirt of her dress and his tongue buried in her cunt, MJ feels her orgasm ripple through her, starting as a building heat until it grows and grows, and grows. Peter continues licking, helping her ride through it, and he holds her steady to stop her collapsing onto the floor in an undone heap.

“Please tell me you’re the kind of guy that keeps a random condom in his wallet,” MJ eventually manages to get out once she’s caught her breath and gotten over the peak of her orgasm, moving her dress out of the way so she can look down at Peter who is still on his knees with his face pressed close to her center.

Peter moves her leg back onto the floor and remains on his knees, but moves up from where he was resting against his heels to reach into his back pocket and fish out his wallet to look for a condom. MJ can’t help but to tenderly run her fingers through his hair, watching him as he does so.

He lets out a small triumphant sound then holds up the foil package for her to see, and MJ has never been so happy to see a condom before in her life.

“Get up here,” she murmurs at him and Peter obeys, quickly standing up once more. MJ pulls him towards her by his shirt collar and reconnects their lips at the same time as her fingers get to work unbuttoning his shirt.

He pulls away from her to helpfully aid her in getting his shirt off, then he pulls his trousers and boxers down together in one just enough to expose himself before he pumps himself a few times then gets the condom on.

Soon, his hands move to where MJ’s ass and thighs meet to lift her up against the door and he holds her up with one hand whilst his other hand moves to line himself up with her entrance, taking a few moments to run his head through her and using her wetness to slick himself up before he slides into her, filling and stretching her at a pace that’s painstakingly slow yet has MJ’s mouth falling open all the same, a quiet gasp escaping her as he slides in deeper.

He brings his hand back to rest against her ass beneath her dress, holding her steady then he starts to move into her, driving into her speedily until he bottoms out before pulling out of her slowly. He carries on like that, gradually building his pace up and following MJ’s instructions, verbal and non-verbal, to go harder, faster or keep doing the same thing.

MJ is surprised by how easily he’s able to get her worked up again, so soon after her last orgasm, but all she can do is bring her hands up to wrap around his broad shoulders to pull him impossibly closer and pant out a, “Harder”.

Peter starts fucking her into the door harder and harder, MJ’s body sliding up the door then back down along him. She thinks they might go through the door from the force of his thrusts but she doesn’t care, instead focusing on the feeling of his cock gliding in and out of her.

The two of them kiss sloppily, lips hitting the corners of their mouths, cheeks, noses, rather than each other’s lips as they continue to move.

The room grows humid and is filled with the cacophony of their pleasure, a heady mixture of moans, groans and grunts, along with the sound of their bodies moving against the wooden door, as they climb higher and higher towards their peak.

“You feel so good, Em,” Peter mutters, mouth moving from trying to kiss her lips to instead burying his head in her neck so he can tongue at the skin there instead.

All MJ can do is moan, loud and drawn out, finger nails digging into his shoulders as she clenches around him.

When she gasps out, “'M close,” Peter moves one of the hands that was clutching one of her ass cheeks and starts to rub circles against her clit, sloppy but determined. MJ has a fleeting thought about being impressed at his ability to hold her entire body up with one hand whilst the other rubs at the bundle of nerves at her center, all while still fucking into her and pressing wet kisses against her collar bones right before her second orgasm of the night pierces through her, emptying her head of any coherent thoughts.

Peter follows soon after, letting out a low groan as he comes before he slows his pace down to a few more stuttering thrusts before he stops altogether and pulls out of her. They don’t immediately move away from the door, Peter holding MJ up as she catches her breath and him his own.

After a while, he stumbles towards the bed with MJ still in his arms and he carefully deposits her on it. MJ watches him unabashedly, giggling at the way he walks to the bathroom, condom still on whilst one hand holds his undone pants up.

When he comes back, he strips off his pants then pulls his boxers on properly, and MJ continues to watch him. Her eyes trace over every inch of his body on display, looking at the way it’s sculpted in a way that reminds her of classical art.

“What?” Peter asks her, giving her a small smile whilst he runs a hand through his curls that are now ruined from her hands.

She wants to make a joke about admiring the view, instead she says, “Bet teenaged you would’ve never imagined he’d be fucking me against a door.”

That gets a chuckle out of him. “I mean, I didn’t think it’d actually ever happen but I definitely imagined having sex with you against a door.”

He kneels down on the mattress next to her, wraps an arm around her waist then easily lifts her body before moving her and depositing her near the head of the bed so her head properly rests on the pillows then he lays down beside her with his head propped up in his hand so he’s looking down at her.

Only then does he carry on, his voice lowering in volume and octave, “I pictured fucking you against the door, bent over the captain’s desk you used when we had decathlon practice, in my bed, in _your_ bed, in my shower, on my desk, in a class room at Midtown…” He pauses, brings his hand up to rest against her waist over her dress which still uselessly hangs over her middle, barely, then, “You were pretty much all I thought about from the ages of fifteen, till I was like, nineteen and got my first proper girlfriend. Even then, too, even if that makes me kind of an asshole.”

MJ feels her heart beat between her legs, desire pulsing through her, and she swallows audibly. “Yeah, me too,” she eventually gets out, breathless.

Peter raises his eyebrows at that, clearly surprised and MJ snorts at his expression. “What, do you think only guys can be super horny and have sexual fantasies?”

“No, no,” he reassures, shaking his head no as well to make his point. A beat of silence, then, “I just didn’t realize you thought that about… _me_.”

That gets an eye roll out of MJ. “Are you kidding? I had the biggest crush on you, it was embarrassing just how obvious I was about it.”

“What?!” Peter sits up. “Do you realise you’ve literally blown my mind with this information.”

“Peter, how are you shocked by this revelation?” MJ says, sitting up as well. Her dress pools around her waist and she doesn’t miss the way Peter’s gaze briefly drifts to her chest, eyes hungrily taking in her bared breasts before he quickly snaps his gaze back up to her eyes, face reddening in embarrassment at being caught in a way not in keeping with the guy who was just knelt between her legs with his tongue buried in her then fucked her into the door. She shakes her head, refocusing on the conversation, “The constant calls and voice messages? Me hanging around in detention to keep you company when I didn’t have detention? Volunteering to give you my notes and to tutor you? Keeping track of all your extracurriculars? _Oh my God_ , Peter.”

It’s beyond mortifying to admit to all the things she did just to be near him or get a bit of his attention, but the passage of time has allowed her to look back on it all humorously rather than feel sad at how he never picked up the hints and how she was virtually invisible to him, or at least she thought.

Peter has this stunned expression on his face, mouth hanging open and eyes widened, processing all of her words. “I can’t believe I didn’t realize, I’m so blind and stupid.”

MJ lies back down on the bed, giggling as she watches all the emotions that wash over his face in the space of a minute; shock, joy, then finally, regret.

“God, if I’d realized—”

She doesn’t like the sad look now marring his features so she decides to cut his ruminating short, “It’s okay Peter, the past is the past. We should just focus on the present, on the here and now.” Her eyes travel from his eyes down to his lips, her gaze pointed and suggestive.

Peter doesn’t respond, instead he lies back down and presses his lips against hers in a probing kiss, gentler than any of the kisses they’ve shared so far tonight. Soon though, it grows hungrier and more desperate and their wandering hands become involved with MJ’s own hands travelling down his body until she starts to palm him over his boxers, finding him half hard already.

Peter has just started palming her breasts, fingers tweaking her nipples until they start to pebble and harden, when MJ pulls away from the kiss. “Gimme a minute,” she tells him before she steps off the bed, turning to head to the bathroom.

She quickly pees then comes back, pausing by the foot of the bed to pull her dress completely off before she gets onto the bed and crawls up towards where he lies with his head propped up by his hand so he can watch her openly.

MJ moves up his body until she’s straddling his hips, at which point she kisses him again, picking up where they left off. They kiss deeply, tawdry and filthy, tongues moving together as they both leisurely grind against the other until it’s too much, or more accurately, not enough, then MJ gets up and off him to allow him to strip his boxers off.

While Peter gets fully naked, MJ digs around in her purse for the condom she keeps in there in case of emergencies, letting out a relieved huff when she finds it before she rushes back to the bed to straddle Peter.

She decides to tease him a bit, wrapping a loose fist around him and pumping her hand up and down then licking around the head of his dick where he’s most sensitive in a move that causes him to moan lowly and buck up into her mouth involuntarily. MJ then pulls her mouth away, sheaths the condom over him and sits on him, bottoming out in one rapid move.

She has to pause, allowing her body to adjust to his length and thickness, especially in this position. When she feels ready, she steadies her body with her hands on his chest then starts to move up and down slowly, occasionally rolling her hips.

“Fuck, Peter. Right there,” she moans as she bounces on him, her pace building and building.

Peter lies there and allows her to control the pace of their combined pleasure, his hands moving over her ass, her hips, and up to palm her breasts as he bucks up to meet her thrusts. He has this look on his face as he looks up at her, a reverent yet focused look, and the combination of it along with the way he moans along with her has MJ coming unexpectedly, way sooner than she expected.

Her movements slow to a stop as her orgasm washes over her then when she realises Peter hasn’t come, she moves off him and gets onto her hands and knees before turning to him and telling him, “Fuck me until you come.”

“Fuck, Em,” Peter gets out in a harsh whisper. But he does as she says, moving behind her to line himself up before he slowly re-enters her and starts to fuck her from behind.

His thrusts are slow but deep, hitting a spot in her that causes MJ’s arms to buckle so she now has her face pressed into the pillow, not bothering to hold herself up anymore.

Just as he really starts to get going, building MJ back up once again, he suddenly stops and pulls out of a whimpering MJ before he gets off the bed completely. In an impressive demonstration of his strength, he lifts the bed with her on it and moves it away from the wall and suddenly, MJ is reminded of a theory she used to have about him back in high school.

Before she can think on it some more, she notices him putting one of the pillows on the bed between the headboard and the wall. “Dork, it’s your room next door,” she reminds him from where she watches him get back onto the bed over her shoulder.

He shrugs, then, “It’s just a common courtesy.”

She wants to tease him some more but all her words leave her, being left bereft of speech as Peter starts to fuck into her with no preamble, fucking her with more fervor this time.

She didn’t expect to come again, especially when she’s already had three for the night, but in no time at all, Peter manages to fuck her into her fourth orgasm and he follows her soon after before collapsing onto her, head resting between her shoulder blades.

They lie there trying to catch their breaths whilst MJ wills her limbs to stop shaking for a prolonged moment. Eventually, they are able to muster up the energy to head to the bathroom and clean up, then they come back and get beneath the sheets and fall asleep with MJ cuddled up behind Peter with her arms wrapped around his middle.

* * *

MJ is first to wake up.

The sun is shining brightly through the shitty blinds, bathing the hotel room in its brassy hues, which tells her it’s close to mid-morning. She feels used up, yet well rested at the same time.

She turns around and finds Peter asleep beside her with his face buried in the half of the pillow they’re sharing, soft snores escaping him.

She allows herself the chance to watch him: his relaxed brow, the dusting of freckles over the slope of his nose and the apples of his cheeks, his mouth which did other worldly things to her last night. She’s transported back to a time where she spent a truly astonishing and embarrassing amount of time looking at his face, committing it to memory.

Despite spending hours with him at Liz’s wedding then going several rounds with him, there’s a part of her, some remnant of the shy teenage girl with an embarrassingly large crush she once was, that still can’t believe that he’s here with her, naked in her hotel bed.

She doesn’t get the chance to continue her study of him because he eventually wakes up bit by bit.

“Morning,” he rasps, voice low and rough with sleep.

She smiles almost-fondly at him, catches herself, then, “You snore.”

He snorts bemusedly, “No, you.”

“Nice try, but no one I’ve ever shared a bed with has complained about me snoring.”

Peter pauses, seems to consider for a moment. “Maybe they were too scared of you to tell you, have you ever considered that?”

She grabs a nearby pillow and smacks him across the face with it. “Shut up!”

He laughs raucously and his hand flies out to grab the pillow out of her hand and she thinks he’s going to retaliate and hit her back, but instead he just places the pillow down underneath his head. Then in a softer tone, “Did you sleep okay?”

“Yeah, but I’m starving now.”

“Worked up an appetite?” He asks, waggling his eyebrows comically.

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head good naturedly as she moves to get out of the bed. She pads across the room to grab his previously discarded dress shirt and puts it on over herself. “I always used to envision myself wearing a man’s shirt after sex when I was younger. I imagined it being so big that it’d come down to my knees. But it’s hard to live out your rom-com heroine dreams when you’re 5”10’,” she jokes as she does up a few of the buttons. “And when the guy you’ve just had sex with is like four-feet tall.”

Peter adjusts his position to prop his head up some more and MJ sees the way his eyes rove over her bare legs, over her butt cheeks peeking out from beneath the hem of the shirt; somehow, she doesn’t think he heard a single word she’s just said. “Not that you asked, but I think you definitely look better than any rom-com heroine.”

“Shut up,” she jokes before she grabs the room's phone to call down for room service. “What do you want for breakfast?”

He looks her up and down hungrily, and MJ feels a heat form in her cheeks and low in her belly but dismisses it, instead rolling her eyes.

“Pancakes,” Peter finally answers. “Could you get me three portions though? I'll cover the charges.”

MJ narrows her eyes at him, once again thinking about her old theory, but focuses on ordering them food instead.

Once she’s done she goes to the bathroom to freshen up before coming back to the bedroom. She pulls Peter’s boxers on just as their food arrives so she goes to accept it, thanking and tipping the hotel employee before wheeling their food in.

The pair eat mostly in silence, both so famished they’re mostly focused on their food. MJ finishes her French toast then starts to pick at the sliced fruit as she watches Peter work his way through his third portion of pancakes. She’s almost taken aback by not just how much he eats, but also how sloppily he eats, like a pig in more than one sense.

To distract herself from her thoughts about her theory about him, she decides to go down another line of questioning instead. “What was your first time having sex like?”

He swallows down a mouthful of pancake then, “Uh, really nice. I was nervous and didn’t know what I was doing, but she managed to come…I think? I hope.”

“Was this with your first girlfriend at ESU you mentioned?”

His face gets impossibly redder and though MJ hasn’t painted in years since starting work, she itches to commit the hue to canvas in water color. “Um, no, I’d had sex before college.”

That piques MJ’s interest. “What? When we were at Midtown? With whom?”

His face grows redder and he focuses on finishing the rest of his pancakes instead of answering. Once he’s finished he finds MJ still looking expectantly at him and realises there’s no getting out of this so eventually, “With Liz.”

He says it so quietly, voice barely above a whisper, but it’s completely unmissable. MJ gasps, equal parts surprised and delighted by the news. “Liz? Liz Allan? Liz who just got married yesterday, Liz?”

Peter grimaces.

“Oh. My. God!” MJ exclaims.

“Please, MJ,” Peter pleads.

“I can’t believe this,” she says in between fits of laughter. When she eventually manages to calm down, “So there was Liz, then the bartender; is there anyone you didn’t fuck at the wedding?”

His face starts to redden once more.

“Peter!” She starts to laugh once more, delighted. “I guess it’d be easier to work out who you _haven’t_ slept with.”

“Oh my God,” he mutters.

She makes a show of thinking really hard for a moment, then, “Have you fucked the groom?”

“No!” he protests. After a beat, “ _Well..._ Mike gave me a drunken hand job at a party at ESU once. That’s how we met and became friends actually, then I later introduced him to Liz.”

MJ finds herself laughing harder than she has in a while, stomach hurting with her laughter. “Peter Parker, you’re such a thot!”

Peter just runs a hand over his face, face bright red and embarrassed whilst MJ continues to laugh at him. She continues to tease him about having slept around, asking him about different people in attendance yesterday to see just how many of them he’s slept with.

Being with Peter is easy, free of expectation, and she finds that time flies when she’s with him, the clock ticking closer and closer to midday when she has to check out of her room and go and catch her flight back home. They’ve spent less than a full day together, yet she dreads having to say goodbye and go their separate ways.

The two of them continue to banter and talk, but MJ can’t shake off that impending sense of dread.

Almost as if reading her mind, Peter says, “When’s your flight back to New York?”

“Late afternoon.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, instead focusing on tracing his fingers over her cheeks, the angle of her jaw then down her neck, his touch searing her skin. Then, “Do you need to go back tonight?”

MJ thinks about how they start trial and voir dire on Tuesday and all the case prep she still has to do, but then she also thinks about her empty apartment that she’ll be going back to, the lack of friends and warmth and laughter. It’s been so long since she’s allowed herself anytime just for her, since she’s made a decision as selfish as staying away from home for a bit longer for the best sex of her life. She makes her mind up. “Uh, no—no, I don’t need to go back today.”

“So…” he starts, smile growing wider. “Would you like to stay an extra night here? With me?”

All she offers him in response is a shrug, going for non-committal, but Peter’s smile grows into a full grin, bright, gleaming and lighting up his entire face and she has no option but to lean forward and press her lips against that smile.

The kiss grows more heated and MJ winds up on her back with Peter hovering over her, grinding against her in a way that’s not quite enough. She’s desperate to feel him inside her again but the two quickly realise they don’t have any condoms left.

“I’d say you could just pull out but I feel like I’d definitely get carried away and tell you to come inside me,” MJ says as they pull apart, Peter moving away from between her legs but not without his erection brushing against her inner thigh as he does so.

“Jesus, MJ,” Peter says with a groan, settling against the edge of the bed away from her to try and calm himself down. “You can’t just say shit like that.”

MJ tries to stifle her laughter at his expense, fails, and Peter groans some more as she laughs at him.

The two make the decision to venture out to grab some condoms; it’ll allow them both the chance to get their things in order—Peter to check out of his own room and move his stuff to here, MJ to extend her stay in this room, and both of them to rearrange their flights.

“Can I have my clothes back so I can go to my own room?”

Because she can’t help herself, “You’ll have to take them off me yourself.”

“Oh my God!” he groans before he gets up from the bed with a huff.

He’s in the process of trying to pull his dress pants on over his still half-hard dick when MJ decides to take pity on him, “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Here.” She quickly pulls his boxers off and throws them to him and he catches them easily. “I’m keeping the shirt though,” she adds as he’s pulling the boxers on.

Peter simply shakes his head at her as he pulls his dress pants on over his boxers and fishes his room key out of his wallet before he turns to leave.

“Meet me in the lobby in half an hour?” MJ calls out cheekily towards his retreating back.

The slam of the door is her only answer.

* * *

A little over forty-five minutes later, after they’ve both showered, gotten dressed and rescheduled their flights, and Peter’s dumped his belongings in her room, they head down the same hotel elevator together, stood close together against the back wall with their hands intertwined.

They have to take an Uber to get to anywhere, and Peter laments about missing the subway and generally complains about the west coast’s inferiority compared to New York the entire journey, making MJ laugh.

There’s an unhurried air to their movements now that they know they have another day here, so they even stop to by a café to grab some coffee since the hotel one was so bad.

They settle at a table in the far corner away from the general rush and buzz of a hipster café on a Saturday afternoon, carving out a little corner for themselves, and talk some more, conversation flowing as easily as it’s done since she accidentally sat on the same table as him in her attempt to escape Liz’s west coast friends who were in the bridal party.

Peter talks about himself only in bits and pieces, always finding ways to divert the conversation back to her instead, something that she’s noticed he does a lot—letting her talk whilst he just listens—and whilst MJ appreciates not just being heard, but being listened to, comes off a little suspicious and makes her mind flit back to that old theory.

Eventually, long after they’ve finished their cups of coffee and some of the employees keep eyeing them warily, they decide to leave and carry on to their original destination of the nearby Target, their hands intertwined once again as they make their way.

There, they leisurely make their way through the large store, browsing sections they have no intention of buying anything from and pointing out the amusing little trinkets they come across as they exchange more terrible pick-up lines and lip sync to the terrible, cheesy pop music that plays over the speakers, likely driving the employees mad.

“Do you have eleven protons, ‘cause you’re sodium fine,” Peter says in a put-on seductive tone, with a comically exaggerated wink before he licks his middle fingers then uses those same fingers to slick his eyebrows back, looking far too impressed with himself.

MJ bites the inside of her cheek, tampering down the laughter threatening to break out of her, then, “It’s hard to take you seriously when you’re literally standing in front of constipation meds, Peter.”

He looks back at the shelf behind him, giggles when he notices what he’s stood in front of but carries on all the same. “My love for you is like diarrhea,” Peter starts to say.

MJ already knows where this is going so she turns on her heels, ready to walk away but she’s not fast enough to get far enough away to not hear him continue and say, “ _I can’t hold it in!_ ” to her retreating back.

She plows on ahead without bothering to turn back to look at him, definitely going in the complete opposite direction to where the condoms they came for are but she doesn’t care. She manages to travel a few aisles away from Peter before he catches up to her.

“I’m sorry, okay? Here, let me make it _up_ to you,” he says once he’s finally back by her side before he pulls out a Blu-ray of the film _Up_ he was hiding behind his back; where he got it from considering they’re not near the DVD section, she has no idea.

“I can’t believe I had sex with you, like, I actually let you inside me,” MJ huffs, feigning indignation.

Peter grins, cheeky and open, and shakes his head at her, tutting slightly. “ _No_ , you can’t believe that you not only had sex with me, but you want to have sex with me _again_ in spite of, or maybe because of, the terrible puns.” A knowing smile stretches out across his face and he reaches a hand forward to tuck a strand of her hair that has fallen out of her bun behind her ear, hand lingering on her cheek in a way that causes her face to heat up ever so slightly.

MJ gulps, an ache blossoming between her legs. She grabs hold of Peter’s hand and starts walking hurriedly with Peter following behind her. “I think, it’s time we grabbed those condoms.”

* * *

Once back at the hotel, they hurriedly make their way up to her room, still hand in hand and giggling at everything and nothing in particular. Being around Peter makes her feel light, relaxed and silly in a way she has not felt in a while, if not ever.

Part of her briefly wonders about missed connections and what could’ve been, but just as quickly as those thoughts entered her head, she quickly dismisses them as Peter closes the door behind them then tugs her hand back towards him until she collides with his solid chest and he’s pressing his lips against hers, impatience and that feeling of _finally_ floating between them each time their tongues brush against each other and their hands move over the other's body.

They waste no time stripping their clothes off again, dumping them in a pile right there by the door before they start to slowly make their way towards the bed between hungry kisses.

When they reach the edge of the bed, they switch positions and MJ not-so-gently pushes Peter down onto the bed, his back landing with a bounce against the mattress whilst his legs hang over the edge with his feet planted on the ground. Then she’s on him again, straddling his lap at the same time as she reconnects their lips.

Peter is so pliable beneath her, surrendering body and soul as he relaxes into the mattress more and he allows her to take charge.

She uses the opportunity he grants her to start pressing wet kisses down the length of his body, over his pecs, down to his abs, down, down, until she’s on her knees between his legs, his erection there in front of her, wanting and waiting.

She doesn’t immediately take him into her mouth despite how much she wants to and how much he clearly wants her to though, the mischievous side of her deciding to tease him a bit before she does by trailing her kisses further down to his thighs, then drifting closer and closer to his hardness but without ever touching him despite how clearly desperate he is for her to put him out of his misery with how he keeps uselessly thrusting into the air.

When she does eventually decide to take pity on him and wrap her mouth around his head, tongue swirling around it and licking the bead of pre-cum, Peter quickly stops her and gets her to pull away.

MJ stares up at him, brows furrowed and confused at the interruption, then watches as Peter stretches back towards the head of the bed to grab a pillow which he then offers to her. “For your knees,” he explains as one hand comes up to push her hair away from her face where it has all completely fallen out of the pathetic attempt of a bun she had it in earlier.

Something constricts deep in MJ’s chest and she wastes no time in placing the pillow underneath her knees then taking him into her mouth once more. Voraciously bobbing her head up and down, she takes him into her mouth as far back as she can manage before pulling back just to focus on the head of his dick instead.

She continues like this, almost toying with him with all Peter can manage to do being to lie back on the mattress, one hand wrapped around her hair to hold it away from her face as he gasps and his chest heaves as he struggles to breathe properly. MJ likes the way having this much power over him and his pleasure makes her feel, revels in it.

The swell of him in her mouth before he comes tells her he’s about to orgasm but Peter still helpfully warns her all the same, or at least attempts to, “I’m gonna—I’m gonna—”

He barely manages to get his words out before he comes, not giving MJ enough time to decide whether to pull away or swallow, so she just swallows down everything.

She carries on leisurely running her tongue over him even after he’s come until Peter eventually taps at her shoulder and desperately pleads, “Enough. _Please_.”

MJ laughs as she lazily gets up off the floor and crawls up the bed as Peter shuffles up to fully lie on it, before she eventually comes to settle beside him, watching the way his chest moves rapidly with his heavy breathing.

“Wow, I really wore out Spider-Man,” MJ says without intending to say the words aloud.

Where before Peter had lain in an undone heap on the bed, breathing heavily, barely managing to keep his eyes open and focused on her, he’s suddenly re-energised, sitting up ramrod straight in the bed in an instant before he turns to look down at her with wide, panicked eyes. “What did you just say?”

“I didn’t mean to say that out loud because I wasn’t a 100% sure about my theory but your reaction just told me everything I need to know,” she responds, tone blasé.

“No, no, I’m not… _No_.”

Peter stumbles through his half-hearted refutations and MJ just levels him with an unimpressed glare. She could mention all the “coincidences” from their time at Midtown—Spider-Man showing up in Washington when their decathlon team was there, the way he always used to mysteriously disappear all the time, plus just all of his suspicious behavior and general tardiness, as well as the abs, she can’t forget the abs. She could also call him out on trying to lie to her even after they’ve slept with each other and she’s literally just swallowed his cum.

Instead, she just continues to stare at him, incredulous, impatient and unimpressed all at once until eventually, Peter relents, “Okay, you’re right. I am Spider-Man.”

Despite already having worked it out years ago, and being pretty certain about it, she’s still taken aback by the way he so openly admits it, “Wait, you’re being serious right now? You’re not joking with me?”

“I’m not joking,” he concedes.

“I was only like, 67%, sure. I can’t believe I figured it out!”

She allows herself a moment to revel in the satisfaction of being right, at her own skills of observation and deduction.

“You know, back at Midtown Susan Yang started a rumour that your shifty behaviour was because you were a male escort.” A pause for dramatic effect, “And after that performance plus you telling me about all your conquests, I’m starting to think there might have been some truth to it,” she teases.

Peter groans and collapses face first into a pillow, making MJ laugh.

With MJ’s theory now being confirmed and the secret now being out in the open, there’s an ease to their words and interactions, a relaxed air that settles over them. Peter is much more loose-lipped than before, now openly talking about himself and MJ wonders, at the back of her mind, if and how keeping this secret affects Peter’s personal relationships.

She brushes her musings aside to focus on quizzing him about his powers instead, though. “Okay, about the Spider-Man thing? I have questions.”

“No I cannot command an army of spiders, and no, I cannot lay eggs.”

MJ snorts, “ _What?_ ”

“What?”

She narrows her eyes curiously at him, getting the distinct feeling there’s a story there. “What I was going to ask you, was if your abs came with your powers? Because you just randomly showed up at school all buff and muscular one day.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, instead just watching her with amusement dancing in his eyes and a small grin plastered on his face. MJ is reminded of how he was oblivious to her obvious crush back in high school.

After a beat, “Kinda, I got muscles but the vigilantism probably helps me stay in shape, too.”

MJ hums wordlessly as she thinks of more questions she wants to ask him. “Do your powers help you, you know, be good in bed?”

His small grin grows wider. “You think I’m good in bed?”

“I’m not gonna stroke your ego, Parker.”

He moves to hover over her, lips coming to press against hers but instead of kissing her, he hovers oh so close, then, “But you’ll stroke other things, huh?” He’s so close that she can feel his breath fan out across her face as he speaks, can almost feel his lips move with each word.

Before she can respond, he closes the small gap and kisses her thoroughly, his hand coming to gently stroke over her stomach, up to her breasts.

MJ pulls away before he can deepen the kiss, “Wait, I had more questions.”

“Do you really want to play twenty-one questions right now?” His tone is slightly disbelieving, his eyes narrowing before he collapses back onto the bed with a huff.

“This one is important,” she insists. She props herself up on her elbows before carrying on, “Have you ever used those webs in bed? To tie someone up or be tied up?”

Peter’s eyebrows rise to his forehead at her words, and she sees the way his throat bobs as he swallows audibly. “Uh, I mean, none of my partners have, um, known—known about…” He pauses, clears his throat then tries again, “What I meant was, why do you ask?”

She shrugs then lies back against the bed. “No reason.”

He must see through her faux-indifferent tone because within an instant, he’s lying over her once more. He presses a few chaste kisses against her lips, asks her, “Is that something you want, hm?” between kisses.

“Do you want me to use my webs on you?” he asks more definitively.

“That sounds like an innuendo,” she jokes in response.

Peter lets out a quick chuckle. “In this case, it is.” He continues to look down at her, his gaze hungry and unwavering, questioning.

“Did you bring your, _you know_?” She doesn’t know what he calls the devices he shoots the webs out of, so opts for making crude motions with her hands, a poor imitation of Spider-Man.

That gets another laugh out of Peter and MJ can’t help but smile in response.

He wordlessly climbs off the bed and goes to his bag in the corner, MJ watching his bare ass curiously as he crouches down, digs around in his bag for a few moments before he brings out the device she recognises from seeing him, or his alter ego, on the news from the outer pocket, barely concealed.

“Why would you keep that somewhere where someone can easily find it?” she asks incredulously as he makes his way back to the bed. “You’re really bad at the whole secret identity thing.”

“Not true, only a handful of people have managed to work it out.”

“Like me,” she says with a wide grin, self-satisfied and cocky.

“Yeah, but you’re really smart and observant so I don’t think that counts.”

MJ just smiles some more, then signals for him to hurry back to bed. “C’mere.”

He does as she says, almost sprinting to the bed before comically diving across to come back to her side, making MJ giggle some more in the process from what a ridiculous sight he makes, especially butt-naked with his dick swinging around.

“You’re ridiculous,” she says as she wraps her arms around his neck to pull him in for a kiss. For a while, the two of them are just content to leisurely make out, no grinding and no wandering hands, just lips and tongues moving synchronously, like they have all the time in the world.

They eventually pull apart, both breathless, and Peter looks down at her with his eyes shining then whispers, “Wow.”

There’s something in his tone and his stare that gives MJ pause, but instead of focusing too much on it, she blinks away whatever was brewing. “So, how do these work?” She gestures to the device still wrapped up in one of his hands.

“Oh right, well,” he starts as he gets up onto his knees, ready to explain it to her. He pauses, “Wait, am I webbing you up or are you webbing me up?”

She has to think about it for a second, both scenarios are appealing to her for different reasons but the idea of her being taken care of is more appealing to her right now, so wins out. Instead of answering him, she puts her arms up and spreads them apart against the headboard.

“Right, yeah.” Peter has to clear his throat a few times before he eventually starts to fiddle with the device, “Just altering the settings on the web shooter, wait.”

MJ waits not so patiently, heat spreading through her and growing wet with anticipation.

Eventually, “Ah-hah!”

She’s about to lift her head up to look and see what he’s doing when she feels her left hand getting webbed to the headboard. Before he webs up her other hand he asks, “Does that feel okay? Not too tight or anything?”

She’s too overwhelmed to say much so just gives him a quick, “Yeah. Fine.”

“Cool,” Peter responds before she feels her other hand get webbed up as well.

He’s kissing her before she has the chance to ask him what he’s going to do her, his kiss intense and desperate. But before she can fully return it, he pulls away and starts to trail his lips down the column of her throat and down to her chest.

He laves wet kisses over every inch of her skin available to him, occasionally sucking marks onto her and gently using his teeth. By the time he reaches her center MJ is panting, chest heaving and a bead of sweat runs down to between her breasts.

She’s so worked up that all she can do when he does eventually run his tongue through her wetness, is to helplessly buck her hips up into the air, knees bending and toes curling. Peter wraps a solid arm around her middle to bring her back down onto the mattress and he keeps his arm there to hold her still as he works her over.

MJ wants nothing more than to bring her hands down to rake through his messy curls, to tug at them the way she’s already discovered he likes her to but the webbing doesn’t budge, keeping her arms and hands firmly in place. All she can do is lie there and take it as Peter eats her out with fervor, taking his time to swirl his tongue this way and that, really savouring the reactions he draws out of her and lapping up everything she offers. He moans contentedly as if giving her pleasure is giving him pleasure.

It feels like hours with his head buried between her legs, hours in which he’ll bring her so close to the edge before easing off and bringing her down just to start that slow, gradual ascent all over again. She doesn’t think it’s ever been like this with anyone before, certainly not someone who barely knows her, barely knows her body, though from the way he expertly tongues at her clit, she’d say he knows her body plenty.

After an infinity has passed MJ feels her orgasm sneak up on her. It’s so intense, crashing through her with such a force that she thinks she blacks out momentarily, being transported to a place where it’s just her and her orgasm, not even a fully formed being herself, feeling boneless like molten liquid.

She comes back to herself to find Peter now lying beside her, and she finds that her hands are no longer webbed up. She doesn’t ask when he got her out of the webbing because that’d involve admitting aloud that she lost awareness for a stretch of time just from his mouth.

Peter presses a barely-there peck which lands on the corner of her mouth, grins down at her, then, “Good?”

She’s so spent but has just enough energy left in her to manage an eyeroll at his expense. “Fuck you.”

Peter simply grins at her.

“What would J Jonah Jameson say if he knew Spider-Man uses his web shooters to tie women up then eat them out till they black out?”

He lets out a full belly chuckle, collapsing back onto the bed.

* * *

Some time passes, MJ is not sure if it’s minutes or hours; she has no awareness of the world beyond this hotel room.

They haven’t so much as kissed since he gave her the most intense orgasm of her life despite the fact that they’ve been lying here completely nude before one another, both because she was too sensitive but also because they got so lost in conversation and she’s okay with that.

“Do you still draw?” Peter asks out of the blue after a brief lull in conversation.

That gives MJ pause. “Uh, no, not really.”

“ _What_?!” he exclaims as he sits up, tone disbelieving. “Why?”

She suddenly feels shy, tentative. “I don’t know, just haven’t had the time to focus on my art, I guess.”

All Peter gets out is a crestfallen, “Oh.” before he collapses back onto the bed.

They’re both lying on their backs, looking at the ceiling, a heavy silence unreeling between them. Taking a deep breath in and then out, MJ finally opens up, “I think…I think at some point I got so focused on work and climbing up the career ladder that I’ve kind of lost sense of who I am outside of that; all I do is work. I guess, I stopped drawing at some point during that, too.”

Peter doesn’t say anything, maybe sensing that she’s not looking for words of comfort but rather, someone to listen to her talk about something that’s been bothering her for the past few years-- how she’s been watching herself become a corporate slave, another cog in the machine, slowly but surely. Maybe it’s why she so readily agreed to stay in a city she doesn't know away from home for the weekend with her old high school crush. Or maybe, she just hasn’t gotten laid in a while.

She startles before immediately relaxing when she feels Peter’s hand come to wrap around hers, fingers intertwining with hers before he gives her a brief, reassuring squeeze.

“Sorry I made it depressing by bringing up my weird insecurities and existential dread,” she huffs self-deprecatingly, desperately trying to bring some levity to the moment and walk back that unexpected moment of vulnerability.

“Em—” Peter starts to say, but she doesn’t give him the chance to say whatever he wanted to say as she hops off the bed and goes towards her own bag.

“I brought my tablet with me, let me draw you,” she announces as she digs through her bag.

Once she finds the tablet, she turns back to look at Peter with the device held in her hands, gaze questioning. Peter must see the way she is wordlessly pleading him to just drop the conversation and allow her to draw him instead because though she can tell from his eyes he clearly has something he wants to say, he blinks whatever it was away and instead settles into a posed position, lying on his side with his arm draped over his side. Then he says, “Draw me like one of your French girls,” in a joke-y, breathy voice.

MJ giggles before she settles on the chair by the desk where she can sit facing him.

She has no idea when the last time she even opened up the MediBang Paint app is, so she has to pause before clicking it, taking a few deep breaths in and out to compose herself as she wills herself to not make it a big deal.

When she feels ready, she opens up the app, sets herself up and starts to draw Peter. It all comes back to her like muscle memory; it probably helps that Peter is a familiar subject, with her having drawn him more times than she’s willing to admit back when they were at Midtown.

Peter lies there completely still, open and so willing to let her scrutinize him so closely and draw him for a long, long stretch of time. The time is near to golden hour, the sun bathing the room and Peter in its gorgeous hue and Peter looks good, perfect. He is beautiful.

She looks down at the final product after some time has passed and it’s a little rough around the edges and some of her technique needs work, but it’s utterly and completely, _perfect_. She smiles down at the tablet, an unnameable feeling washing over her.

She’s brought back to the present by Peter speaking out, “You’ve always looked really beautiful when you’re concentrating on something, whether it a novel or when you were sketching, or whatever.”

MJ wordlessly reaches behind her to place the tablet down then settles back in the chair. Peter watches her curiously then his curiosity morphs into hunger as she brings her fingers up to her mouth, sucking on them and wetting them before pulling them out and dragging them down her body, pausing to lazily circle her nipples before she carries on down her path. She spreads her legs as much as the chair will allow her then brings her slick fingers down to circle over her clit slowly, maintaining eye contact with Peter the entire time.

Peter’s eyes keep flicking between her face and down to where she rubs the pads of her fingers over her clit, gradually picking up the pace. She moves her hand down to slide her middle finger into her cunt, slowly teasing it into herself all the while maintaining eye contact with Peter. It’s not the most comfortable chair or position in the world but she is slowly working herself up and the intensity with which Peter watches her is gratifying.

She has just added a second finger and is using the palm of her hand to rub at her clit when Peter rasps out, “Please, let me fuck you.”

MJ continues to touch herself, pretending she didn’t hear his pleading but eventually decides to take mercy on him, stopping her motions then getting up off the chair before heading towards him.

His eyes stay glued on her as she slowly walks towards the bed then crawls across the mattress towards him.

“I guess we should use those condoms, huh?” She asks, tone teasing.

Peter doesn’t respond, instead he wraps his hand around her wrist and brings the hand she was just fingering herself with to his lips and he sucks her fingers clean. All MJ can do is watch, heat blooming within her and mouth falling open.

Once he’s done, he moves off the bed to grab a condom out of the box that rests on the bedside table which he quickly tears open and sheaths himself with but instead of coming back to lie with her, he grabs her hips and drags her to the edge of the bed. He then lifts her legs and drapes them over his shoulders before he enters her, gliding into her easily with how wet she is.

His thrusts are slow, intentional, allowing her the chance to feel every inch and every ridge of him, the stretch of him and the way he nudges at her g-spot. It’s too much, yet she wants more so she tells him as much, “More.”

He acquiesces, picking up the pace as he starts to drive into her with a bit more force and MJ pushes back against him as well. At the same time, one of his hands massages her calf draped over him whilst he brings the other hand down to start rubbing at her clit, driving her closer and closer to the edge.

“God MJ, do you know what you do to me?” He asks, voice a little unsteady and his words punctuated by his groans. He carries on, “What you’ve always done to me?”

MJ is too lost in her own pleasure to say anything other than an endless, incoherent litany of “yes”, “harder”, “more” and “right there”.

Peter comes fast and hard into the condom and MJ is close so tries to keep moving against his quickly softening dick. She whimpers in protest when Peter pulls out, but the whimpers turn into moans when he quickly presses two fingers into her, pistoning them in and out of her whilst his thumb rubs at her clit to get her to come.

He adds a third finger and he crooks all three once, twice, then MJ is coming with a loud shout, writhing and clenching against his fingers.

He brings her legs back down before he just collapses there on the floor at the foot of the bed, and MJ laughs but finds that she herself is too boneless to move, just staying where she is at the edge of the bed with her legs dangling over it.

* * *

Freshly showered, hair wet and both wrapped up in the white, fluffy hotel robes, the two settle on the bed with their room service spread out between them as they eat and continue to talk and banter.

Even though she now earns enough to be able to afford luxuries like room service twice in one day and staying another night in the hotel, there’s still a part of her, the part that grew up in a home where they had to carefully count every cent they spent, that feels guilty about spending so much money this weekend. But she dismisses those thoughts, instead watching the man opposite her who’s basically destroying the multiple burgers he got.

“You literally eat like a pig,” MJ comments, watching the way Peter stuffs an entire handful of fries into his mouth in one go.

He finishes chewing, swallows, then, “I have increased metabolic needs because of my super powers. I can’t help it.”

“Do your superpowers also make you eat so…” She pauses, trying to find the right word as she watches him eat half of an entire burger in one bite. “...So _sloppily_?”

Peter shrugs, choosing to continue eating his food.

When MJ is done with her own meal, she lies there watching Peter as he finishes off the rest of his food with one hand, whilst the other holds onto to the TV remote and he aimlessly channel surfs. He’s the picture of perfect relaxation, head resting against a pile of multiple pillows and looking so satisfied and pleased with himself.

They settle into a silence but it’s comfortable. For as much as they can talk easily, like no time has passed at all, they’re also able to just be together without exchanging any words or feeling the need to fill the silence. It’s nice, really nice.

Before she can start to analyse that, she speaks, “Do you have any kinks?”

MJ laughs when he nearly chokes on a bit of his food in response to her question. For someone who has kind of slept around, and is as good in bed as he is, Peter gets so awkward each time she talks about sex and it’s very amusing to her.

He gulps down the remaining contents of his water bottle to shift the food lodged in his throat. “Uh, no?” He finally responds, his tone unsure.

She narrows her eyes disbelievingly at him. “Really? Not even a little exhibitionism?”

“What? No! Why would you even ask that?” His voice rises an octave and MJ only grows more suspicious.

“You wear a really tight, form-fitting spandex suit,” she explains.

“First of all, it’s _not_ spandex,” he says incredulously. “And second of all, how does that lead you to believe I’m into exhibitionism?”

“I don’t know, it just does.”

“Wow.”

“I mean, why else would you wear that little tight suit?”

He scoffs, “Because it’s more aerodynamic!”

MJ hums. “No, I think you know how your ass looks in it.” After a beat, because she’s having too much fun with this, she adds, “And the bulge.”

“You definitely can’t see a bulge because I tuck—” He starts to argue, stops himself, then, “Stop objectifying me!”

MJ can no longer keep the joke going, bursting out in laughter at his expense. To start with, Peter watches her with an unimpressed expression but eventually, the expression melts away and he starts to laugh, too.

Their laughter dies down and they settle back into a comfortable silence, Peter quickly moving their trash and leftover food away from the bed.

He settles back down, lying beside her then, in a quiet, soft voice asks, “What about you, do you have any kinks?”

She considers his question for a moment. “I don’t know.” She shifts her position so she’s lying on the bed. “I feel like there’s this pressure on women to allow men to hurt and degrade them in bed, and do things they don’t like all for the sake of not being “ _vanilla_ ” in bed.”

Peter hums in acknowledgement and agreement. “Yeah, you’re right. I guess those are things I’ve never really thought about.”

“And sometimes guys use things like a woman saying she’s submissive as an excuse to hurt and degrade her when that’s not really what being submissive is,” she adds.

“That’s messed up. Men are really fucked up.”

She turns her head sideways to look at him and throws a grin his way. “You’re a man, Peter.”

He raises the shoulder he’s not lying on in a move meant to be a shrug. “Yeah, that means I know what I’m talking about.”

The two let out small huffs of air in bemusement, then MJ turns back to stare at the ceiling.

“Anyway, I’m into exhibitionism a little bit.”

She keeps her voice even as she says it, and she’s delighted when it has the desired effect with Peter gasping then choking on air.

Somehow, they go from that conversation to Peter having her bent over with her hands and face pressed against the glass of the window as he fucks her with the blinds wide open. It's dark and they're probably too high up for anyone to see them, but the rush she feels at the possibility, in combination with the way Peter drills into her at such an angle that she finds her feet lifting off the ground slightly with each thrust along with the way his one hand wrapped around her middle roughly palms her breasts whilst the other leisurely moves over her clit, has her coming in no time at all.

Her gaze flits from the city lights ahead of them to Peter’s reflection in the window as he continues to fuck into her, chasing his own release, watching the way his eyes are squeezed shut and his mouth is open with soft pants escaping him.

When Peter comes she reaches a hand back and feels around until her hand lands on his chin then she uses it to tug his face closer to press his lips against hers, tongues tangling.

“Don’t pull out yet,” she whispers breathlessly. Even though he’s growing soft and will likely not be able to maintain this position much longer, he does as she says, staying buried in her with his arms wrapped around her whilst they both just look out over the part of the city they have a view of.

It’s not quite the skyline of New York at night time, but it’s nice all the same.

Eventually they pull apart and head to the bathroom to clean up.

Once they’re done, they spend the rest of their night talking, but mostly trying out more things. They’re both on a mission: Peter to find out exactly what MJ’s buttons are so he can push every single one and get her to come over, and over again, and MJ to make him blush by muttering increasingly filthy words at him.

In the early hours of the morning MJ eventually has to tap out, so thoroughly fucked and used up that she can no longer go another round. She doesn’t have Spider-Man’s stamina, after all.

* * *

Once again, MJ is the first to wake up. It’s still very early in the morning, the faint pre-dawn light peeking through the still open blinds and heralding the oncoming day, the day they have to say goodbye.

She distracts herself from the unpleasant ache forming behind her breast bone by watching Peter’s face as he sleeps. His brow is furrowed rather than relaxed like the last time she watched him, and the expression he wears on his face reminds her of the expression he’d always have on his face when he was focused on the bubbling beakers in his desk in Chemistry or when he was focused on formulas on a paper labelled “Web Formula” when he thought no one was looking.

Her mind suddenly starts showing her images of things she has no recollection of herself; Peter watching her with an open, adoring look when he thought she wasn't looking, the way Peter would beat himself up whenever he was late to decathlon practice or late to a library study session with her, the keen interest he had in her and her interests—her books, her tea, her murder documentaries.

She startles, almost sitting up in bed. Had she been blind and missed something that was right in her face all along? Was it so blindingly obvious that Peter liked her back?

Before she can linger on the revelation for much longer, Peter wakes up, blinking his eyes rapidly and looking around the room to orientate himself.

When his eyes land on her, a wide grin stretches across his lips, lighting up his entire face and waking him up some more. “Hey,” he croons.

“Hey,” is all MJ can say back, unsure what to say or how to be around him all of a sudden.

Neither says anything else for a prolonged stretch of time, just staring at each other across the gap between them which grows farther and farther until Peter stops them drifting, pulling her towards him with a hand around her waist. When she’s close enough, he then kisses her with everything within him.

They make out at a leisurely pace, and they maintain that pace as MJ falls onto her back and Peter moves to between her legs, grinding against her as they kiss.

They both sigh contentedly when Peter finally gets a condom on and slides into her, then he starts to fuck into her at the same lazy, languid pace, with their bodies gently gliding against the other as the sun slowly rises outside.

“Tell me if it hurts,” Peter murmurs against her throat, keeping his movements gentle and so slow in a way that’s infuriating yet has her toes curling against the expanse of his back all the same.

She knows he’s only going so slowly, being so gentle, because of how sore she is from the marathon-like sex they were up all night having. Yet, there’s something different about this time. They both pour so many feelings into the movements of their bodies, the elation of rekindling old friendships and acting on missed connections, along with the bittersweet undercurrent of their impending farewell.

MJ thinks she might cry, an intrusive urge, but instead she lets out this pathetic little whimpering sound the next time Peter bottoms out in her and she’s almost embarrassed by it but she looks up and finds Peter smiling down at her fondly, his gaze as adoring as in those memories she didn’t remember before.

She moans loudly, wraps her arms around his broad shoulders to pull him more tightly against her, bringing him impossibly closer. At the same time, Peter moves a hand up to brush her baby hairs away from her face in a way that makes her feel more exposed than being nude in his presence almost all weekend has.

They keep staring into each other’s eyes as they hold onto the other tightly, anchoring each other to the present moment. MJ doesn't break her stare even when he rolls his hips so he rubs deliciously against her with each thrust.

They wind up coming at the same time, impossible and clichéd.

Peter is first to break the silence they’d settled into after they’ve caught their breaths, “You know what you were saying about losing sense of who you are because of your work?” MJ doesn’t respond but Peter carries on anyway, “For years I’ve been so caught up in being Spider-Man and saving everyone that I guess I’ve kind of lost sight of who I am as well, outside of the suit, I mean. It’s why I asked you to stay here with me. I just wanted to be selfish for once.”

MJ doesn’t know how to respond, so doesn’t, instead just allowing the weight of his admission to settle between them, that shared understanding to linger.

She startles when Peter reaches a hand forward and wipes away the tear that was rolling down her cheek; she hadn’t even realised she was crying.

She tries to get a hold of herself, instantly crashing back onto earth after a weekend spent in their own little world. But it isn’t the real world, it was never going to last more than the two days and two nights they’ve shared.

Before MJ can do something ridiculous like cry again, she hurriedly gets out of bed to start the process of getting ready to leave and Peter reluctantly follows, getting out of bed as well.

They shower separately in direct contrast to when they’d showered together yesterday, teasing each other and wasting water as they did so, with MJ going in first whilst Peter packs his stuff and cleans up. Then when she’s done, Peter goes into the shower whilst she packs.

They leave the room and head down the elevator, this time each standing on opposite ends as they ride down in silence. They then check out of the room and get on the same Uber to the airport.

The silence and distance between them causes MJ’s heart to ache unpleasantly but she doesn’t know what to do to rectify things; they’re both headed on the same flight back to New York but they’ll be sitting separately then once they get back to their home city, she’ll go back to her life and him to his and she’ll occasionally hear about him on the news and think back to their weekend in LA fondly, but that’ll be it.

So, she doesn’t say anything to him during the entire ride. Then again once they reach the airport, check in and go and wait on seats by their gate.

She tries to distract herself from the feelings bubbling up within her by doing some work on her tablet but she cannot focus or get comfortable, both because of the thoughts rattling around in her head and because of the throbbing ache between her legs and all over her body that prevents her from being able to sit properly.

She catches Peter staring at her, a slightly mischievous glint in his eye, as she adjusts her position for the hundredth time, crossing then uncrossing her legs. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head at him then re-focuses on the tablet in her lap, some of the tension dissipating, at least momentarily.

When Peter’s seat is one of the ones called to board he gets up and she sees him hover near her from the corner of her eye, clearly itching to say something, but he seems to change his mind when she doesn’t look up and instead walks away without saying a word.

Shortly after, MJ’s called to board so gathers her things and starts making her way. Except, when she gets there the airline staff member, _Sally_ according to her name badge, informs MJ they accidentally double booked her seat so they’ll have to move her to another seat. MJ just shrugs, uncaring and ready to just go home before going to the new seat they’ve assigned her.

She gasps audibly when she gets to her seat and finds that she’s been placed next to none other than Peter Parker.

The two of them stare at each other wordlessly for a moment, small smiles forming on both their faces which grow and grow until they’re both fully grinning at each other like a couple of assholes.

“ _It’s like the universe wanted us to meet again_ ,” She echoes his own words back at him, and Peter’s smile grows impossibly wider.

They smile goofily at each other for a few more beats until someone behind MJ clears their throat pointedly at which point they both break their stare, looking away embarrassedly and MJ doesn’t miss the blush coloring Peter’s cheeks and the tips of his ears.

Peter gets out of his seat and mumbles a few apologies to the man waiting behind her, then he goes to take her bag out of her hands and place it in the overhead compartment whilst all MJ can do is watch the way his arms flex when he lifts her bag above his head, before her gaze drifts down to the sliver of skin exposed by his t-shirt having ridden up. She’s had him so many times over the weekend yet she still wants more; she can never get enough of him.

He catches her staring once he’s done putting her luggage away, winks at her, then wraps his hand around hers before he tugs at her to get her to come and sit down and finally move out of the way.

He doesn’t let go of her hand once they’re settled in their seats, resting their intertwined hands on top of the armrest between them. She never truly took the time to appreciate the feeling of his hand in hers before, the differences of his hand compared to hers—the way it’s more calloused, rough, and the way it’s much bigger than hers even if she might be taller than him.

She squeezes his hand one, two times and Peter just grins at her.

They stay in that position as everyone else boards the plane, then as they make all the announcements.

Once they’re ready to take off Peter turns to look at her, grins, then, “I know hundreds of Pi digits, but what I really want to know is the 7 digits of your phone number.”

MJ mutters a quiet, “Oh my God,” and rolls her eyes at his words, but it's fond.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!! I've been working on refining my smut writing recently and set myself a challenge to write something w multiple sex scenes and have them not be boring/repetitive so...let me know how I did lol. As always, comments and kudos and much appreciated!
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](https://tvfanatic97-2.tumblr.com) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/dayaspsychic) x


End file.
